


It must be idiocy

by catcusxx



Series: Demons and Emotionally Illiterate Haikyuu Characters [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Are there actually people everywhere? Can you see the stars?, Demons, I didn't know this would go in this direction but here we are, I have no idea how city's work lol, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Listen I don't plan for so many plot-defining moments to happen in graveyards, M/M, Marked explicit for smut in third part, Ushijima has lots of pet fish, Ushijima thinks he's picked out a rom-com and boy was he wrong, accidental porn, and a regrettable lack of personality, but here we are, ghosts???, no literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24661264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catcusxx/pseuds/catcusxx
Summary: No, really.Inviting a demon inside your house is generally inadvisable. Giving said demon the spare room probably even more so.Never mind Wakatoshi didn't know he was a demon, the fact they'd never met before was odd as well, but what else do you do when a stranger tries to steal from you on the subway?
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: Demons and Emotionally Illiterate Haikyuu Characters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783087
Comments: 6
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Grammarly to edit this, which is cool and all, except now I have no idea whether to use American-english or British-english because I don't live in America or Britain??  
> The rest of this will be up by the end of the week!!

It must be curiosity.  
The man was strolling along the row of people, brazenly picking pockets and inspecting contents of bags and nobody so much as spared him a glance. He didn't seem to pay the people much mind either, though he occasionally leaned over to watch a phone screen or stepped over errant feet. Finally, he reached Wakatoshi and begun rifling through his bag.  
Wakatoshi grabbed the man's wrist and pulled his bag away protectively.  
The man’s head jerked up and his eyes widened a fraction.  
"What are you doing?" Wakatoshi asked. The person beside him shot him an odd look before continuing to type on the laptop perched precariously on their knees.  
"Huh? Me?" The man asked.  
Wakatoshi nodded.  
"Hmm..." With a quick motion, the stranger freed his wrist from Wakatoshi's grasp. He thought he felt sharp bones click beneath his fingers.  
"You're... Stealing." He said, eyeing the stranger's shoulder bag. It wasn't any business of his, not unless the stranger decided to take one of the costly textbooks he held.  
The stranger shrugged his bony shoulders, "gotta get by somehow." He said.  
He did look underfed. His hair was a brilliant shade of red, which stood upright seemingly without hair gel. His face was all angles, hollow-cheeked, and a little gaunt. Perhaps odd was the word for it. He had a strange countenance, one which made Wakatoshi want to pay attention - but it was none of his business, he reminded himself. Maybe his stealing was something these people allowed for some reason - something he simply hadn't paid attention to before. Maybe the man worked for a charity.  
The stranger had removed his hand from Wakatoshi's bag but stayed sitting in front of him, watching him with intense concentration. Wakatoshi cleared his throat and busied himself reading the advertisements plastered on the opposite wall of the subway.  
He wasn't one to avoid eye-contact, but something about this stranger’s gaze was unnerving. Maybe he was just tired from volleyball practice.  
(He wasn't one to make excuses either, yet here he was).  
"Oy." The stranger rapped sharply on his knees, forcing Wakatoshi to look again. He was spinning Wakatoshi’s volleyball on the tip of one of his long fingers. It spun neatly - perfectly controlled. "You can see me?"  
"Obviously."  
The stranger frowned for a moment, then grinned like he'd found something amusing.  
He said nothing more until Wakatoshi's stop arrived and he stood up, whisking the volleyball from his grasp and stowing it away. He was relieved to finally be off the sweaty, uncomfortably bright train and onto the cooler station.  
The stranger was with him - he realized when he was on the sidewalk lit only by the occasional streetlight. He was spinning the volleyball again - Wakatoshi hadn't even felt him take it.  
"You are following me."  
The stranger threw the ball into the air and caught it deftly. "Yup." He answered though Wakatoshi hadn't meant it as a question.  
"Why?"  
"Didn't have any plans." He said with a shrug, "what's your name?" And then, unperturbed by Wakatoshi's silence- "Mine's Tendo Satori, you can call me Satori if you'd like - all my friends do." Tendo laughed an uneven, wheezing laugh, "no one has in years of course." He didn’t even sound bitter, just the slightest bit resigned.  
"How far will you follow me?" Wakatoshi asked uncomfortably. He wasn't worried about Tendo hurting him; although almost as tall as Wakatoshi, he was almost painfully scrawny.  
Tendo shrugged. When standing, it was an exaggerated motion, as if he moved with his entire body, volleyball still spinning evenly on his fingertips. Wakatoshi snatched the ball from him again.  
Tendo, a few steps in front of him, snickered, "power move." He said, leaning back until his face was uncomfortably close to Wakatoshi's. "Tell you what," he said, mouth widening into a grin, "you keep that ball until we reach that lamp post-" he nodded to the one down the road, "then I leave you alone."  
"What happens otherwise?" Wakatoshi asked. He didn't know why he was even entertaining the idea of some kind of a deal.  
Tendo considered this. "Ah!" He lifted a slender finger to Wakatoshi's face, "you let me stay at your house tonight." He said.  
"Why?"  
"It's going to be cold tonight." Tendo said, "and surely you don't think I could win?" He lifted an eyebrow slyly.  
Wakatoshi had no reason to doubt his strength, he could win, he was sure. It wasn't like he'd been consciously watching the ball before, after all. He also had no reason to entertain the stranger - none other than the simple fact that he was curious and Tendo looked like he could use a meal and place to stay.  
Wakatoshi didn't get curious often and he had brought home strays before (though admittedly they had been of the animal variety).  
He switched the ball to his other hand, out of Tendo's reach. For a few moments the other leaned over to swipe at it, and Wakatoshi kept it out of his reach with ease. Then, a few steps from the lamp post, and faster than he could even see, Tendo was on his other side and the weight of the ball was gone from Wakatoshi's hand.  
Tendo grabbed the lamp post with one hand and spun lazily around it. Wakatoshi gaped, and then shut his mouth.  
"Let's go home then," Tendo said brightly, holding the volleyball with much more reverence then he had before.  
To lead Tendo to his doorstep was against common sense, but there was something childish and innocent in Tendo's eyes, amongst the world-weariness.  
Tendo darted inside his house before Wakatoshi could get inside himself. Stowing the keys away, he followed him in. His house was, by default, reasonably neat, but there were unwashed dishes in the sink and some of his clothes were thrown haphazardly over the back of the sofa.  
Still, Tendo shouldn't expect the house to be clean and Wakatoshi had no reason to clean up. In the end, Tendo didn't even give the mess a second glance.  
As Wakatoshi began cooking dinner in the kitchen, he found himself listening as Tendo explored. He heard his exclamation as he, presumably, discovered the fish tanks lined up against the far wall, and the eventual rustle of paper as he began to go through Wakatoshi's things.  
Eventually, Tendo settled himself in the living room and Wakatoshi cooked himself dinner.  
Once done, he dished up his own food and found Tendo lounging on the sofa in the living room. His eyes still roamed around the room in blatant fascination.  
"I didn't take you as the type who cooked." He said when they made eye contact.  
Wakatoshi grunted non-committally. He began eating, but an awkwardness - the kind he normally ignored - fell over him.  
"There are left-over's in the pan." He said finally. "You need to eat."  
Tendo leapt up, as if he'd been waiting for him to say that. "You calling me scrawny?" He asked over his shoulder as he went into the kitchen. There was the thump of draws being opened until he apparently found a plate and cutlery. If Wakatoshi had anything valuable in the kitchen he would have rushed to keep an eye on Tendo - he was certainly rummaging about - but all he'd bothered to buy when he moved in, aside from cooking implements, were plain white plates and wooden chopsticks.  
"Thank you, Wakatoshi-kun," Tendo said when he arrived back.  
Wakatoshi started, "how did you-"  
"You aren't very observant, are you?" Tendo said in between mouthfuls of food. He looked highly amused, about what, Wakatoshi couldn't say. Tendo nodded to a yearbook open amongst other things on the coffee table.  
Wakatoshi hadn't intended to keep the thing - it was from his last year of high school. There was an article about him in it - he'd been in the national team, after all - and pictures from his classes. He knew how he looked in all of them - stiff and uncomfortable, the same as he did on the photos of his volleyball team. There were few good memories from high school aside from the volleyball itself. He hadn't made friends, not really. People younger than him looked up to him too much, and he supposed he'd never really invited friendship with his teammates. He just... didn't have anything to say to them.  
Tendo didn't seem to mind his silence. He babbled away about nonsensical things - stories about people on the subway or television series he'd watched, things Wakatoshi cared little for.  
Even so, it was kind of... Nice, to have someone talking to him in such a carefree way. All he had to do was nod along occasionally, or grunt agreement and Tendo's eyes lit up.  
It was as if he had had a lot to say for a very long time, and nobody to say it to.  
If this was conversing, it wasn't so bad, really.  
-  
As promised Tendo slept on the couch. Wakatoshi awoke early and found himself tiptoeing around the other as he got ready. He didn't think to leave a note on the table for him before he left, not until midway through practice, where he realized his last interaction with Tendo was his reluctant 'good night' from the night before.  
The screech of shoes on the volleyball court brought him back to the present, and he realised he'd missed a spike. He shook his head and focused on practice with a vengeance.  
When he arrived home, however, it was to Tendo, sprawled out lazily on the floor and snacking on something. Wakatoshi realized he was crunching on pickles straight from the jar.  
"Why are you still here?" He asked.  
Tendo screwed the lid back on the jar and sat up, "I wasn't here all day," he assured him. "Where'd you go?"  
Wakatoshi rolled his shoulders and glared at him. He should not still be there. "Practice. Then I had class."  
His back ached from the drills their coach had put them through. He hadn't expected, when he first arrived, to have to compete for the position of ace, but there was a first-year his age, Iwaizumi, who's spikes were almost as powerful. It was worse than that, even, because he was as proud as Wakatoshi and neither of them wanted to stop before the other.  
Tendo stood up and flung himself down on the couch instead. He patted the space beside him, "I went to the video store and, er, burrowed, this disk. It's that show I was telling you about. You remember it, right? I was talking about the actress in it last night."  
"I have homework," Wakatoshi said.  
"Multitask." Tendo said, "it'll be fun. I waited all day for you to come home so that I could watch it with you."  
Wakatoshi didn't know how something as tacky as the disk Tendo held could possibly be fun, and yet he found himself sitting down anyway. Tendo hadn't left much room for him on the couch, but he seemed comfortable leaning against Wakatoshi as the show began. Wakatoshi resisted the urge to shrug him away. There was so much of Tendo the action seemed pointless, and Tendo didn't even seem to notice the contact.  
The show wasn't interesting. Perhaps if Wakatoshi had ever given romance more than a passing thought, or if he found the lead attractive as Tendo did, he might've been more absorbed.  
Tendo spoke throughout the show, telling Wakatoshi about the characters and what he thought would happen. He became more comfortable as the show progressed. He leaned back against the sofa and threw his legs over Wakatoshi's lap.  
In turn, Wakatoshi found himself increasingly less comfortable. Tendo's movements were so casual yet his legs across Wakatoshi's, and the hand which played idly with his hair felt oddly intimate. Wakatoshi stayed perfectly still and stared at the screen as if his life depended on it.  
He could (should) stand up any second and dislodge Tendo, retreat to his room, and begin his homework, yet something prevented him.  
"Wakatoshi-kun," Tendo waved an impatient hand in front of his face.  
Wakatoshi realized his thoughts were probably written all over it.  
"Huh?"  
"You weren't listening." Tendo looked mildly offended, "I asked what you thought of that new actor. I bet she's going to become part of a love-triangle." Tendo clapped his hands together gleefully, "do you think she's pretty?"  
"No."  
"What about the male lead then?"  
"No," Wakatoshi repeated.  
Tendo made a frustrated noise, "man, I thought men could like men now." He turned back to the screen, a pout on his face, drawing his knees to his chest instead.  
Wakatoshi breathed a small sigh of relief and stretched his legs. "They can." He told Tendo, but his frustration was yet another odd thing - Wakatoshi hadn't implied in any way that they couldn't. He supposed it must be, for whatever reason, something Tendo was sensitive about and he felt the need to reassure him. "We always could. I just don't find him attractive." He said.  
Tendo shrugged, his shoulders relaxing a little. Wakatoshi wondered why he said now as though he remembered the before. He'd only ever seen the idea that someone had to like the opposite gender from birth in textbooks; prejudice and labels were things he'd had to memorize for exams and promptly forgotten the next day.  
The show finished and Wakatoshi stood up.  
"We're only on episode one," Tendo complained, stretching those spidery limbs.  
"It's been a day," Wakatoshi said. Something told him he would get very little done while Tendo was there anyway.  
"Nu-uh," Tendo said, waggling a finger incessantly in front of Wakatoshi's face, "twenty-four hours." He pointed at the clock, "that gives me until seven!"  
It was half-past six. That didn't leave him long at all. Wakatoshi wondered if it was some, odd, principle of Tendo's to get exactly what he was owed.  
"I brought home dumplings," Wakatoshi said, deciding not to argue, "you can defrost them if you want. Then it will be time to go."  
Surprisingly, Tendo did listen to him, and he left at seven and no later. Wakatoshi saw him out. He'd even given him the rest of the defrosted dumplings and Tendo was carrying the disk in one hand as well.  
Wakatoshi got the disturbing feeling that he'd lost after all, as he watched Tendo disappear from sight.  
How uncomfortable - but that would be the last of it, and feelings like this went away sooner or later.  
-  
Things didn't quite go back to normal.  
For one, Tendo didn't vanish from Wakatoshi's mind, no matter how he avoided thinking about him. For another, his house felt different.  
It was quiet again which would have been good for his concentration if Tendo didn't keep appearing in his mind. Things were also just... Off.  
He arrived home each day to find the throw on the sofa rumpled, or crumbs on the bench. There were no pickles left, and his supply of cereal dwindled fast enough to force him to go to the shop three days earlier than planned.  
He didn't even eat pickles, but he grabbed a jar - just in case.  
In case of what, he wasn't sure.  
-  
There were no concrete signs of an intruder (Tendo) in his house for some time, until almost a month later when he arrived home, his apartment smelts like warm pavement and the air freshener from the subway. Together the two were a subtly familiar scent.  
He thought he'd find Tendo curled up on his couch at first, that was where he normally noticed the disturbance, after all, but the redhead was nowhere to be seen, and he could have easily disturbed the sofa himself. He rarely paid attention to thinks like that, after all. This was him becoming increasingly paranoid.  
Wakatoshi sighed and made his way to his room to dump his bag. His eyes snagged on his bed, where someone lay. It was a sleeping Tendo, his face buried in the blankets and his legs thrown over top of the covers.  
Wakatoshi should not feel relieved, he should not tiptoe back out of the room so as not to wake him, and he definitely shouldn't cook enough dinner for the two of them.  
Why there was now a pan full of fried rice and two sets of cutlery out he couldn't say.  
But Tendo stayed asleep, so Wakatoshi put away the leftovers and washed up as quietly as possible. He went in to check if he was still there one last time and found his eyes lingering on Tendo's split knuckles and the bruises which dotted his pale skin. Maybe he'd been caught pickpocketing - he wasn't exactly subtle. But sleeping he looked smaller than ever, and there were shadows under his eyes.  
It looked like Wakatoshi would take the couch for the night. It would be much less effort than making up the guest bed.  
-  
He awoke in someone's arms. This had never happened before, and Wakatoshi's brain was slow and sleep-addled. Warm pavement, he realized, was the scent of the city in summer, but it was just barely spring now.  
They were moving. The person carrying him stubbed their toe on something and cursed quietly. Wakatoshi struggled out of the person's grasp and landed on the floor with a thump.  
"You're awake." It was Tendo, looking down at him, rubbing his elbow where Wakatoshi must have hit as he freed himself. He was wearing an oversized hoodie - one of his. Tendo crouched down beside him, smiling sheepishly. "I guess you caught me." He said, "I didn't want you to sleep on the couch, you're too gangly for it."  
Ironic, coming from him.  
"How did you...?" Even in the dark Wakatoshi could see Tendo's scrawny frame. He was wrong in calling Wakatoshi gangly when he'd had the muscle to match his height for years. He certainly wasn't light.  
"Lift you? Ah, well I'm stronger than I look you see." Tendo said.  
Wakatoshi stood up himself.  
"Why not just sleep in the guest room?" He asked, his voice gravelly from sleep.  
Tendo hesitated, "it was cold." He said eventually, "and your bed was already made."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could say this wrote itself but really what happened was I had like three lines of dialogue and then dragged this from it (How does one characterize Ushijima?)  
> Also, I hope where everyone is right now they're doing alright! 2020's been a bitch so far :(  
> (Haikyuu is a whole ass coping mechanism at this point lmao)


	2. Chapter 2

It must be guilt.   
That must be why Wakatoshi offered Tendo the guest room. He'd turned on the lights and realized that Tendo was much more bet up than he'd first thought. One of his eyebrows was split and there was a bruise along one of his cheekbones - a purplish red which indicated it was only a day old. Wakatoshi could see scars, some old, some still healing, snaking up his arm, where one of his sleeves had ridden up as he'd carried Wakatoshi to bed.   
Tendo eyed him warily at his offer.  
"Why?" He asked.  
"Because nobody's using it, and you're a guest."   
Tendo held his gaze for a little longer, and Wakatoshi stared right back, wondering if there was a better answer he was supposed to give. Then Tendo barked out a laugh and went to inspect the room. He came back out, grabbed the blanket he'd had the night before, and deposited it on the bed. If Wakatoshi hadn't known better, he'd have said that he looked like crying with happiness.  
-  
Tendo was odd.   
There was no pattern to his days; sometimes he'd wake at the crack of dawn with Wakatoshi, others, he'd disappear for the night and sleep at daybreak. Sometimes he made dinner or watch Wakatoshi make it with a kind of lazy interest. Others Wakatoshi would leave leftovers in the fridge. He didn't need to leave a note, Tendo always found them.  
Often when he watched Wakatoshi, his eyes lingered on his hands.   
He must be very observant, for when he focused on something it was as if his eyes were visibly sharper. He joined Wakatoshi in feeding the fish early on and remembered everything Wakatoshi did for them with apparent ease. He seemed to have a particular fascination with the flowerhorn.   
Wakatoshi had brought the flowerhorn only once all of his tanks' ecosystems had perfectly stabilized. He'd brought it home in a clear plastic bag wrapped up in his jacket several months   
"It's ugly," Tendo told him after watching Wakatoshi coax it to the surface with a pellet.   
"So?" Wakatoshi wasn't going to disagree with him. He could see why the bulbous hump on its head the folded wrinkled skin around its mouth could seem ugly, but that was just how that particular fish looked. He watched it swallow the pellet and placed a finger near the glass. The fish swam over to it to investigate. Usually, Wakatoshi did this to lead it to more food, now he wanted to show Tendo how... Cute, he supposed was the word, this fish could be.   
It was an odd impulse, considering that people liked different things and that was inevitable and also okay, but Wakatoshi wanted to justify himself.  
"It follows." Tendo leaned closer to the glass. Wakatoshi opened his mouth to tell him not to tap on it, but Tendo placed his finger by Wakatoshi's. Wakatoshi started and made to move his hand away, but Tendo linked his pinkie with Wakatoshi's thumb.   
"It won't follow my finger." He said.   
Wakatoshi wasn't sure if this was fact or speculation but opened his mouth to tell him that it would follow anything that moved outside the glass by instinct.   
Tendo's hand was warm. His skin was dry and smooth, his grip gentle, almost insubstantial, and yet somehow difficult to pull away from. He led their hands down to the bottom of the tank and the fish followed.   
"Oh, it is pretty cute." He said, leaning casually into Wakatoshi as he guided their hands back to the top of the tank.   
The fish soon lost interest, yet Tendo did not let go.   
"Let's watch a movie or something." He said.   
Wakatoshi went to say that he had other things to do, but again the words did not seem to come. At least his silence was not uncharacteristic.   
As always, Tendo chattered away through the movie, to the extent that if Wakatoshi had wanted to watch he would be unable to focus.   
It was an odd, low maintenance kind of friendship, but suddenly home was a place to look forwards to as well.  
-  
Wakatoshi didn't know when Tendo started coming to his volleyball games, only that one day he looked up to find Tendo's eyes, eyes which had become no less jarring in their intensity, fixed on him, and his spike went out of bounds and he realized Iwaizumi's had followed his gaze and fixed on Tendo as well.  
Wakatoshi thought he saw a flash of surprise in Tendo's eyes, but there was no time to look: the other team was serving.   
At the end of the game, he congratulated Wakatoshi with an easy hug and clap on the back.   
"You destroyed their middle blockers," Tendo said. He'd gotten a volleyball from somewhere and was bouncing it.   
"Did you play?" Wakatoshi asked suddenly.   
Tendo shrugged, "I used to," he said, "a long time ago."   
"You should come to a practice," Wakatoshi suggested.   
Tendo laughed and shook his head. Wakatoshi frowned and watched the ease with which he bounced the ball. He had such perfect control, the kind that took years to build. If Tendo was any good, then his team would set to him.  
But Tendo had moved on from that thought anyway.   
"There's someone I have to talk to." He said, nodding to Iwaizumi, a curious, determined look in his eyes.   
Wakatoshi did not think to follow him. He needed to shower and get changed, so he left Tendo to say what he wanted. It was only afterward he thought to ask what had happened, and Tendo only shrugged and said nothing, so that was the last of it.  
For around a month, at least.   
It felt like a long time since Tendo had started intermittently living with them, almost a quarter of the year.  
Then they received a knock on the door. Tendo was scrubbing the dishes and Wakatoshi was finishing up his report about ecosystems in the Amazon rainforest. The due date was sooner than he'd like because he'd never been this distracted from class before, except where volleyball was involved, of course.   
"You going to get that?" Tendo asked though he was already slipping off the rubber gloves.   
In the end, Wakatoshi opened the door, and hovering there was a decidedly uncertain Iwaizumi and another, far more confident, man.   
He had a sharp quality to his face, and he looked at Wakatoshi as if he were not particularly impressed. Tendo, however, at Wakatoshi's shoulder, invited them in and Wakatoshi piled his work and laptop more neatly on the coffee table. He still didn’t know why they were here, but the tension in the room was palpable.   
"Tendo." The man with Iwaizumi said stiffly.  
"Oikawa." Tendo mimicked.   
Iwaizumi elbowed Oikawa, muttering something about being nice, and Oikawa just elbowed him back.  
"Iwa-chan was wondering if you minded living with a demon." He said.  
Tendo paled visibly.   
"He's not a demon." Wakatoshi defended. He assumed Oikawa meant a metaphorical demon, in which case Tendo was anything but; too noisy at some points, of course, and a practically non-existent sleep schedule, but easy to live with; Wakatoshi would have made him move out if he weren't, he was sure.   
Oikawa sputtered, apparently having choked on his own saliva. Iwaizumi slapped his back a little harder than necessary and looked between them. Wakatoshi began to feel that they were expecting something from him, but he had no clue what.  
Iwaizumi leaned forwards and said something carefully, very carefully. "You do know that Tendo is something other than human."   
Wakatoshi blinked. He was sure the normal reaction would be to burst out laughing.  
"You haven't noticed anything odd?" Oikawa said, arching an eyebrow, "anything at all?"  
Tendo, who'd been sitting beside Wakatoshi, moved closer, still looking a little pale and maybe even twitchy. Wakatoshi put a comforting arm around him and Tendo relaxed into it. Through it all, his eyes were fixed darkly on Oikawa.   
"I should have known." He said. Oikawa glowered back.   
"We came to check everything was alright." Iwaizumi said, standing, "Tendo and I did not meet on the… nicest of terms but our worry was for nothing."   
Oikawa followed as they made for the door, cackling, "I don't know what's funnier; the fact that you lived with someone only you could see for months or the fact you didn't realize you-"  
Iwaizumi elbowed him sharply again. "If someone had told me that half a year ago you would be livid." He hissed.   
"Yeah, and it would have made things a lot easier," Oikawa said, but he didn't finish his sentence before they left.   
"Is it true?" Wakatoshi finally asked, when the house was silent again.  
Tendo breathed out a long breath, his body stiffening minutely under Wakatoshi's arm.   
"You're very calm if you think it is." He said.  
A lot of things would make sense if Tendo was something other than human; a being that other people couldn't see. It would explain everything right down to that first day Wakatoshi had caught him pick-pocketing on the train. It also seemed a very far-fetched idea and Wakatoshi was sure it wasn't realistically worth entertaining.   
He'd always thought he was a realistic person, of course. He never harbored hopes of winning a match where his team was outranked, never risking going out without an umbrella if the weather forecasted rain... and yet somewhere along the line, something must have gone awry, because here Tendo was, a roommate who'd been living rent-free for months with a past unknown to Wakatoshi.   
Oh sure, it hadn't negatively impacted him in any major way, but it was hardly the height of realism.   
It must be... it must be something other than curiosity, they'd moved far past the boundaries of guilt as well, but Wakatoshi felt as though he were searching for some metaphor in a novel back in school; such a thing always had eluded him.  
Tendo slipped out from under Wakatoshi's arm and went to stand by the fish tanks.   
"Haven't you ever noticed? They don't come over to look when I'm here. I'm not even sure why you can."  
"So you're… Invisible." Wakatoshi conceded. He still was not certain he believed it; Tendo had too much substance to go unnoticed. He was too bright, too loud… or perhaps he was scared one-day Wakatoshi would cease to see him as well.  
Tendo just nodded.   
"What else?" Wakatoshi asked. "What else makes you different?" He wanted to know himself. Tendo was different and he had no idea why.  
"Demon just means not human," Tendo said. "People like Oikawa despise the word, but then, he is only a half-demon – or he was…" Tendo frowned to himself.   
"How are you a demon?"  
"I was human once," Tendo said, his finger pressed against the fish tank glass. He watched mournfully as the fish swam by, oblivious. "I think ghost is perhaps more accurate to you. I died, I know I did - I saw my body afterward and I remember everything..." Tendo shuddered a full-body shudder of disgust or fear, Wakaotshi couldn't tell. He wanted to put his arm around Tendo again, but now his friend was too distant.   
(Or perhaps it occurred to him that Tendo might shrug him off).  
"I stayed here," Tendo continued, "and I don't know why. Most demons like me remain because we want something. I knew one which wouldn't leave until his wife died but me…"  
"What did you want?" Wakatoshi asked quietly. He was trying not to think about Tendo dying.   
Tendo was silent for a long moment, his eyes carefully trained on the fish tanks, his fingers twitching restlessly by his side.   
"I'm not like you." He said finally, "I don't know what I want, I never have. You only want to play volleyball and look after fish. If you died today, I bet you'd come back just to play the next match." Tendo chuckled, but it was a flat, dead, laugh. "I wanted so many things when I was alive and none of them are - are-" he gestured random shapes into the air in front of him. "Corporeal. Real. I wanted to fit in, I wanted my parents to love me again-" he paused suddenly, cut himself off with a thick swallow.   
Wakatoshi couldn't think of a way to comfort him, he never was good at that sort of thing.   
"How long ago did it happen?" He asked instead.   
Tendo shrugged, "the years blur together, you know. I was reading one of those webpages - I was alive when the riots were happening when people like me were… we were murdered in dark alleys…"   
"People like you?" Wakatoshi repeated softly. He wasn't entirely sure what Tendo was anymore. Sadder than he'd first thought, and tired in a way that sunk into his bones, but still struggling to stay afloat.   
Perhaps it was just in his nature to survive.   
But Tendo was watching him, a storm in his eyes his arms limp by his sides. Watching him with the kind of intensity Wakatoshi wasn't sure how to reciprocate. Eye contact with Tendo had become easier recently, but this was another thing altogether.   
With the bright, ultraviolet light of the fish tanks behind him, he looked like an angel.   
Then he started forwards, took Wakatoshi by the shoulder (not gently, but Wakatoshi didn’t mind), and kissed him.   
It was a short, violent sort of a kiss, and Wakatoshi had no comparisons, except that in his stomach rose the same fierce joy he felt when he got a spike through blockers by sheer force.   
Tendo's hands were on his shoulders as if to keep them standing apart even though his lips drew Wakatoshi in and he wanted to be closer, he wanted there to be no space between them at all, ever again.  
And then Tendo stepped back, moments before Wakatoshi could draw him closer.   
"That." He said, breathlessly. The realization sunk in - Tendo couldn't say the words aloud. Whatever had happened in his past was unfathomably bad, so much so that this part of himself was something he wanted to hide, to lock away.   
The kiss had been brave, not some declaration of passion.  
That was not the only thing that Wakatoshi disliked about the situation. Tendo's words from before stung; the implication that Wakatoshi only cared about volleyball and fish. It wasn't true.  
Wakatoshi enjoyed quiet mornings and free time and evenings with Tendo watching shitty drama.   
He had enjoyed that kiss as well. The part before he'd realized that Tendo did not know how to say that he was gay before he realized that at that moment, Tendo had been kissing a man, not Wakatoshi.  
The worst part was, he almost didn't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear


	3. Chapter 3

It must be insanity.   
That was why Wakatoshi had a game plan; to show Tendo the early mornings and the faded rainbow flags hanging in windows and the couples which settled in the alcoves of the park to watch the fountain sputter.   
That was why the fact that Tendo was inhuman didn't bother him in the least. Why Wakatoshi’s eyes lingered on lips, stray strands of hair, and the constantly moving sinew and muscle beneath Tendo’s skin.  
He wasn't a complete idiot, though he'd never felt it like this before. He'd seen the way people behaved in Tendo's dramas. Irrational, lovesick, as Tendo called it, glee sparkling in his eyes. He was lovesick now, in the way that all those people had been. He even felt sick; feverish when they made eye contact for too long, his stomach doing flips when Tendo lay on him in the evenings, as he always did but now Wakatoshi was far more, far too, conscious of it.   
The mornings came first, and Tendo followed him curiously out the door. He'd seen the whole city before, of course, but somewhere in him was a lingering hatred of the world and Wakatoshi wanted him to see past it more than anything.   
“You didn’t bring your volleyball.” Tendo pointed out as they neared the park.  
Wakatoshi chuckled, “why wait until now to tell me if you thought that was my intent?” He said.   
“Then why are we here?” Tendo asked. Wakatoshi frowned. He wasn’t sure if he could give a straight answer.   
“I like this,” Wakatoshi settled for, “other than volleyball.”  
“Oh.” Tendo looked at him for a long moment, and Wakatoshi nodded to the sky. “Just… the morning?”   
“Yeah…” It seemed kind of stupid now he was actually thinking about it, but Tendo sat down on the dewy grass and patted the place beside him.   
Wakatoshi had dragged Tendo outside early, so there were few other people around. The park was wild enough to remind him of home and the sun was just rising, the remnants of the fiery dawn still painted on the sparse clouds. Even the air   
“I’ve been thinking,” Tendo said after a long moment, “about what I wanted most before I died.”   
Wakatoshi turned to watch him. There was a lot to see on his face, and Wakatoshi often felt like he missed most of it.   
“I think I wanted someone to love me.” Tendo drew his arms into his chest.   
“What happens if they do?” Wakatoshi asked, breath catching in his throat.   
“I’ll disappear, I suppose,” Tendo said.  
Wakatoshi found himself nodding, the thought a disturbing one. Suddenly he wondered how love was defined, if it had to be said out loud.   
“How did you die,” he found himself asked, though he didn’t want to know the answer.  
Tendo shrugged, “I moved out when I was fifteen – my Dad threw me out. I made it several years but I still wasn’t streetwise, apparently. I went home with a man, the wrong man, although at the time any man was the wrong man.”   
He did not offer any more detail.  
“I’m sorry,” Wakatoshi told him and hoped the sincerity showed in his eyes as much as he felt it. He’d been told he was difficult to read.   
“Yeah, it was… well… it was a long time ago.”   
“It still happened, and it shouldn’t have.”   
Tendo hesitated a long time before agreeing. Wakatoshi wanted to shake him into submission because Tendo had to know that it shouldn’t have happened at all. All he could do was hold Tendo’s gaze and wait for him to nod again.  
-  
They started doing things like that more often, and Wakatoshi had to stay up until the midnight deadline to hand in his report but he didn’t care. It was still done and Tendo, even if he was frozen forever in the state he’d died in (Wakatoshi didn’t know where the food Tendo ate even went), looked healthier than ever.  
There was one thing causing him conflict, and it was that Tendo had not kissed him again. Wakatoshi wasn’t exactly sure how exactly that was a cause of conflict, but it was one, terribly so.  
Wakatoshi found himself looking where he shouldn’t; Tendo’s lips, the slope of his shoulders clothed in Wakatoshi’s hoody, the brush of Tendo’s lashes on his cheeks when he shut his eyes. He was thinking, too, about things he didn’t normally think about, like hands on the small of his back and warm breath against his lips.   
Normally, when he jerked off, it was a mechanical affair, and the water washed away any lingering remnants of pleasure, along with the mess. He’d never really thought about someone during before, but Tendo was far too easy to think about, and somehow the image of his tongue flicking out to lick his lips was fixating.   
They were sitting together on the sofa, and Tendo was as sprawled out as ever. Wakatoshi had found them another television show online, which he was going to put on now. He hadn’t read the synopsis, but it had said in the title that it was a love story between two men.  
It started as such, Wakatoshi supposed. The lighting was over-bright, fluorescent lights, and the acting seemed mediocre, almost typical of one of Tendo’s other shows. It went downhill from there.  
Both actors seemed to have a penchant for walking around shirtless, and one, the plumber, did not seem very invested in fixing the sink.  
Tendo made a noise in the back of his throat as the plumber began undoing his belt.   
“Wakatoshi-kun, where did you find this show?” He asked, glancing away from the two men, who were now kissing loudly on screen.   
“I googled it,” Wakatoshi said.   
“This isn’t a rom-com,” Tendo said, eyes flicking back to the screen. His foot twitched in Wakatoshi’s lap against his cock, and just that little bit of friction brought him pleasure.   
“Oh.” Was all Wakatoshi could manage.  
The two men were feverish in their movements, and the bad acting didn’t matter because one of them was reaching between their flushed bodies to press their dicks together. Ushijima had caught glimpses of this before and he’d never watched, even wanted to watch, porn, but with Tendo beside him, feet still resting in his lap and sound of his quickening breath so near his ears Wakatoshi found himself transfixed.   
“I didn’t know.” He managed finally, eyes glued to where the plumber’s hand wrapped around the dick of the other and muttered something dirty in his ear.   
Tendo dived for the remote and switched it off, his cheeks fiery red, almost matching his hair.   
“You have to read the blurb first.” He gaped.   
Wakatoshi nodded, frozen from a combination of embarrassment and arousal. In his desperate grab for the remote on the coffee table, Tendo had thrown himself across Wakatoshi and now it was his thigh pressed into Wakatoshi’s crotch and they both knew there was no mistaking the hardness there.   
“I didn’t… I’ve never…” he repeated, but his brain must have short-circuited because Tendo’s fingers were idly clenching and unclenching around the remote and he had turned so that they were face to face, mere centimeters apart.  
Tendo grinned shakily and Wakatoshi realized that this would be something they would laugh about later but Tendo wasn’t moving, almost like he didn’t want later to come.  
“Wakatoshi-kun really is clueless.” He said.  
“I don’t normally do that…” He admitted.   
“Jerk off? Have sex?”   
“I don’t normally want to.”   
That seemed to provide Tendo with a little more confidence and he leaned forwards, adding the tiniest it more pressure to Wakatoshi. He shifted not sure if he wanted to back away and salvage the situation or cause friction against the worn fabric of Tendo’s sweatpants.   
“And now?” Tendo asked, his voice low.   
Wakatoshi licked his lips, but even his mouth was dry. “I want you.” He said.  
Tendo placed a hand on the back of the sofa, just above Wakatoshi’s shoulder, and leaned forwards, his breath brushing lightly against Wakatoshi’s cheek. Wakatoshi arched his back, to close the gap between them and provide himself with the slightest amount of friction because he was aching for relief now.   
Tendo kissed him. His mouth was warm and slick and Wakatoshi realized that even though he’d imagined it so many times this was so much better, so much more.  
Tendo made a noise low in his throat as Wakatoshi grabbed his waist. Tendo was bearing down on him, his hands on Wakatoshi’s face now, their tongues slicking against each other and somehow the noises were more obscene than the sound of the two men on the screen, who had been moaning loudly.   
Wakatoshi pulled Tendo’s hips in closer and found one hand slipping down over Tendo’s ass. Even a gentle pressure brought another of those sounds, prematurely cut off by Tendo himself. Wakatoshi wanted more of it. He wanted the vibration of the noise in his lips, he wanted to make Tendo feel good.  
His hand slipped downwards of its own accord, his thumb digging into the apex of Tendo’s thighs. Tendo broke away from his mouth and exhaled. His eyes fluttered shut.   
“Please.” He said. “Wakatoshi…”   
He didn’t know what more to do, but the pressure of his thumb was driving Tendo wild in the best possible way. Tendo’s moans filled the air around them and he realized that his own breathing harsh and he was so close to losing it.   
Tendo slipped his hand underneath his waistband and now Wakatoshi could see his fingers arching beneath the grey fabric at a quickening pace. The band slipped and he could see Tendo’s tip, flushed and leaking precum. Transfixed, Wakatoshi let go of Tendo’s waist, ignoring his groan of protest when his hips rocked back to meet empty air and swiped the bead of precum with a calloused thumb.  
Tendo hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pulled his pants lower. He kissed Wakatoshi again and snaked a hand between their bodies. He pressed his palm against Wakatoshi’s length, still entrapped in layers of steadily dampening fabric. Wakatoshi grunted.   
In his own hands, Tendo’s dick twitched.  
The pressure built, until Tendo’s movements became jerky and Wakatoshi felt uncoordinated and Tendo came into the palm of his hand and Wakatoshi felt his own release in his pants.   
He didn’t even have the energy to grimace and Tendo settled his weight down on Wakatoshi’s thighs. His pupils were so dilated they almost swallowed his iris’s, and Wakatoshi was so close to him he could see the ghost of his outline reflected.  
For a moment, Tendo looked as if he was going to continue with his normal chatter. Wakatoshi almost wanted him to… but then Tendo wrapped his arms tenderly around Wakatoshi and buried his face in the small of his neck.   
There became damp at some point, and Wakatoshi wasn’t sure if it was sweat or tears. He wrapped an arm Tendo, wanting to offer comfort somehow.  
They remained like that late into the night, despite the uncomfortable wetness in Wakatoshi’s pants. Tendo was seeking comfort and Wakatoshi could only hope that it was not specifically because of what they’d just done.  
Then Tendo sat up and untangled himself from Wakatoshi. Where he had sat felt too cold without his body weight.   
“I want to show you something.” Tendo croaked. He frowned and cleared his throat, as if he hadn’t released just how much use his voice had had earlier that evening.   
They showered first, though not together, and Tendo helped Wakatoshi into his jacket at the door, apparently eager to go.   
“Why not wait until morning?” Wakatoshi asked.   
“This place is nicer at night,” Tendo said. The dark did not trouble him in the slightest and he led Wakatoshi without hesitation.  
The night was chilly, and few people were about. They lived on the outskirts of the city, so the only real light was the streetlamps dotted every few meters. Wakatoshi was glad for Tendo’s hand, for both its help navigating the simple weight of it in his palm.  
They ended up at a graveyard, oddly enough, and Tendo led them down the rows as though he’d done this many times before.   
Wakatoshi got out his flashlight to illuminate the headstone. It read ‘Tendo Satori, much-loved son.’.  
“Your parents?” He asked.   
Tendo nodded.  
“They must have loved you,” Wakatoshi said.   
“Perhaps. Or perhaps they wanted to redeem me. It is easier to remember someone fondly in death.”   
“Did you ever go to visit them?”   
Tendo barked a laugh, “once or twice.” He said. “They couldn’t see me, of course, and my little brother was as happy as ever with his wife. I watched them grow old and I’m still here, so I suppose that means they didn’t love me like I wanted.”   
“You think that it’s love which will make you disappear?” Wakatoshi asked.   
Their time flashed in his mind’s eye like a montage. He grew worried.   
Tendo nodded. “I’ve thought about it a lot.” He decided, “I lacked it, consistently.”   
Wakatoshi frowned, “are you sure?” He asked.   
He loved his father a great deal, and he’d had a few friends over his life to love, and Tendo didn’t feel like either of those, but it was something important nonetheless.   
Tendo licked his lips, nodded. They walked back. Wakatoshi wasn’t sure why Tendo had thought the graveyard was nicer at night, he wasn’t even sure why Tendo had brought him at all, and his mind was still spinning from earlier, although it had been hours.   
“I think I might leave,” Tendo said, from out the blue.   
“Leave?” Wakatoshi repeated blankly.   
“Yeah, you don’t… I mean, I’m only here because I kept crashing your house.” Tendo’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets and smile was carefully unconcerned.   
“I don’t want you to leave.” Wakatoshi clarified quickly.   
“Because of before?” Tendo asked.   
“No!” Wakatoshi’s cheeks heated up and he hadn’t been this much of a mess for a long time (unless one counted earlier that evening). They were on the street of his house now and desperately wanted Tendo to walk through the door with him.  
Miraculously, Tendo did, yet things were not quite the same.   
Wakatoshi vowed silently never to bring up that night again, but sometimes he would be working and Tendo would approach him and they would kiss and rut against each other until both were satisfied and then continue about their day as if nothing had happened. There was something akin to shame on Tendo’s face afterward like he hated what they were doing, but he was always the one to approach Wakatoshi and Wakatoshi didn’t know what to do other than let him; it wasn’t as if he didn’t want to.  
It left him with a sour taste in his mouth each time Tendo climbed off of him to shower. But Tendo still did not disappear, which meant that Wakatoshi did not love him and Tendo wanted to stay.  
Then, one morning as Wakatoshi left for practice, Tendo came with him, only he wasn’t wearing Wakatoshi’s hoody, but a garishly colourful shirt which he’d brought (stolen) himself.   
“You’re leaving.” He realized aloud.   
Tendo nodded mutely.  
“Why?” Wakatoshi asked, adjusting his grip on his volleyball as his hands grew slippery with sweat. Silently, he lamented the fact that the day would continue as normal and he had nothing to make Tendo stay, nothing to offer at all.  
“Why stay, why-“ Tendo cut himself off before he raised his voice too much. “Tell you what,” he said instead. “you keep that ball out of my possession before it reaches the lamp post and I stay.”   
Wakatoshi glared. It was a challenge Tendo meant for him to lose and he knew that he would no matter how tight his grip or how much taller he was than Tendo.   
But if they were going to do this on a technicality there was one thing he could do. So he nodded in agreement, and when he saw Tendo move, he threw the ball in the right direction and even Tendo couldn’t match its speed.  
Wakatoshi didn’t even look after it as it bounced into the bushes somewhere in front of them. He was staring unapologetically at Tendo, who was, in turn, staring after the ball, a look of amused resignation on his face.   
“I forget you think about things so much.” He said, “you’re impossible to read.”  
“Maybe you should ask questions.” Wakatoshi reminded him, “and I have one for you.”   
“Ask away.” Tendo said, sweeping a hand dramatically through the air as though he was saying ‘the floor is yours’.  
“Why do you want to leave?” He asked again.   
Tendo sighed, “I just… this is another thing that I can’t have.” He said.   
“This? The house? Me?”   
Tendo hesitated.  
“If what we’re doing makes you feel bad then we can – we should - stop.” Wakatoshi continued. He’d never felt so compelled to fill a silence before.   
Tendo shook his head, violently, like a dog ridding itself of water, “you don’t understand. When I’m with you I feel good. I don’t just mean physically I mean things feel okay in my head, and then afterward I just think… I think of my parents and what they would say, what they did say…”   
“What did they do to you?” Wakatoshi asked, his voice cracking with the horror of it, because he’d known that Tendo had faced things he couldn’t imagine, and he still couldn’t imagine those things, but it was like the reality of it had only just hit him. Surely over a hundred years would dull the pain of being spurned by a family, of being murdered by someone who should have been trustworthy, but Tendo had been internalizing it for that length of time as well, beating himself up about it, oblivious to the way the world around him was changing for the better. Wakatoshi began to wonder if Tendo was not only physically incapable of changing but mentally as well.  
Tendo, who was thinking about those moments again, his amber eyes troubled. Wakatoshi took his hand and watched him until Tendo came back to the present.   
“Then what now?”  
“What we did before.” Wakatoshi said, “except maybe you don’t leave afterward. Maybe we work through this.”  
Tendo’s gaze softened minutely.   
“I am worried though,” Wakatoshi admitted, “I’m worried that you’ll disappear, if it is love you wanted.”   
He watched Tendo steadily as he worked it out, heart pounding in his chest.  
“You mean you-“ Tendo swallowed thickly, and looked at his hands as if he expected them to go transparent. “Say it out loud.” He demanded, “to be sure, say it aloud.”   
“I love you,” Wakatoshi said.  
And he’d thought that perhaps he’d quality it by saying he wasn’t quite sure how, but it wasn’t the same as how he’d loved anyone else before, but in the end, those were just unnecessary words and he never had liked those.   
They stood there, waiting for something to happen until the fear faded and they were just enjoying the morning. Tendo was still there, standing closer to Wakatoshi now, leaning into him almost subconsciously. He was as solid as ever, and more whole, more at peace, than he had been in a long time, perhaps ever.  
And so they turned back around to go home.   
“You have practice, don’t you?” Tendo reminded him tentatively.   
“I’ve decided not today,” Wakatoshi said.   
-Epilogue-  
The cue for the cinema was loud and stretched out the door. They were lucky that they’d arrived a little earlier than the masses and Wakatoshi couldn’t help but be a little grateful for the crowd; nobody noticed him smiling into thin air.   
People had been seeing Tendo recently. Not everyone, and not consistently, but Wakatoshi could see their eyes catch on him more and more.  
“What movie is this again?” Tendo asked.  
Wakatoshi told him and Tendo raised an eyebrow, “and it really is an action movie this time?” He clarified.   
Wakatoshi laughed and leaned into Tendo so he could say into his ear of the chatter, “I read the blurb.”   
He’d put a lot of thought into the movie in any case. Tendo was becoming more comfortable with himself and what he needed, Wakatoshi had decided, was not a movie to show him that two men could fall in love, but a movie that showed him that it wasn’t the defining part of them.   
So he’d picked a superhero movie, a Marvel one, and amidst the movie, as Captain America pulled Bucky Barns from the prison camp and kissed him, Tendo, who had always been automatically careful about affection in public despite still being invisible to most people, leaned over and did the same. When he pulled away, his eyes were both unashamed and unashamedly happy.  
Perhaps it never had been love; perhaps Tendo was just a survivor.   
Wakatoshi could not be more grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't found my niche yet but I am *this* close to saying fuck it and writing straight up smut.  
> Thank you for reading!!


End file.
